Heartbeat on Wheels

To read Part 1, click the link below:

"Your mom didn't wait for you, Hamza."

"She left us all!"

Hamza's phone tumbled from his hands, and his senses deceived him. The bustling roars of the city became silent to him, and he couldn't hear the sound of his heartbeat, either.

For Hamza, there could've been exceptions. Maybe he would've survived the news about the seriousness of her mother's accident...

Anything... Anything... but,

"No More!"

.

Six months passed, but Hamza never smiled again. Nothing in the world attracted him. He never cried after the day her mother got buried!

No—Joy

No—Cry

He was like a caged soul who couldn't leave the body because of a few fragile strings attached to the world, but staying inside was the most painful place for his soul to reside. The bond he shared with his mom was the only valuable asset of his life. He was 7 when his dad divorced his mom for another woman. Although young, he was sensible enough to realize what her mom had been through! His sisters Hira and Sana were now 14 and 17. He was the eldest, almost 20 years old by the time her mom died.

Hira and Sana moved to their grandmother's house on the demand of his daadi—Grandmother. He was told to move there, too, but he refused. He wanted to live with the floating memories and fading fragments of her mother's soul.

In the next eight months, after his mother left the world, Hamza's life collapsed. He didn't have any source of income, so he started renting out some of the luxurious furniture from his mom's dowry to survive.

His mother always wanted to see him wearing a white lab coat, A stethoscope around his neck, and neatly tied black shoes. When Hamza's dad left the family, his mother started a small business sewing clothes. In no time, she became so skilled that they were living almost a luxurious life. She sent Hamza and the other two to the best school in the city. She would buy expensive dresses for both her daughters. All together, she bruised her knees and stitched her fingers, working tirelessly to give her children the life their father couldn't—a life where his absence wouldn't leave them feeling empty.

Hamza had only three semesters left to earn his M.B.B.S. degree—Almost 1.5 years— but his financial situation turned against him. He could've asked money from his Grandmother or uncle, but he never did. He kept a distance from almost everyone. The solitude was eating up his soul, but he didn't know what to do. He abandoned his studies and convinced himself that he was a complete loser. There came days when he would sleep with an empty stomach. Somedays he would want to k:11 himself, but then her mother's pitiful eyes would stop him from doing so.

One day, while at the grocery store to buy a bottle of milk, he overheard two men talking about the new ambulance service that had opened in the city, a 30-minute train ride away. One of them said that they were looking for mature boys in their twenties to appoint, offering a handsome salary from the very start.

The Present

This was his first time in two years wearing fine clothes. He was wearing a White Shirt under a nicely tailored blazer, along with the only pair of left Air Forces his mom bought him. He was nervous but rather sad. All the dreams of becoming a doctor had been wiped out! After all those hard years of studying medical science, what was he doing? Applying for an Ambulance Service to drive Buses now.

His face looked like he had been crying the whole night.

It was now 5:58 in the morning, and the train arrived. He rushed into the crowd and finally got a seat on the train.

"Aghhh… it hurts!" Allah—Oh God! It has cut so deep. I can't put my foot down."

Hamza looked to his right side; next to her was a girl moaning in a low voice, but the pain in her voice could be heard significantly. Her foot was bleeding heavily. It seemed like she had gotten it stuck somewhere, and it had cut when she pulled it free.

"No, you're not doing it the right way."

Hamza to the rescue.

"Back off! Who are you? I got hurt so badly; don't touch it."

The girl jerked his hand and became nervous.

"I'm a Doc..."

Hamza became silent and left the word incomplete.

"Respected Lady, let me help. I know how to treat injuries like these."

While looking at her blood, Hamza's eyes flashed back to the blood of his mom. The last time he hugged her, he got her blood on his hands. Hamza became a lifeless stone for a few minutes, forgetting the girl while her foot was still in his hands.

"Do you think you're helping me? Aaaaaaaooooochhhh!"

"Mr....... Doc!!!!!!!???"

Her sharp cry shattered his trance. Hamza blinked back to reality, his heart pounding.

"I'm sorry! Just give me a second."

Hamza got so terrified with the memory of the past he just had revisited that his hands started to shake. He pulled off his blazer and handed it to the girl, then untucked his white shirt from his pants. Without thinking, he grabbed the front part of the fabric and tore a strip; the sound of ripping cloth at that moment was the only satisfying sound that could be heard. Moving quickly, he wrapped it around her foot, pressing down to slow the bleeding. Since the strip was white, the blood penetrated through it.

He realized the cloth wasn't enough. He grabbed the front part of his white shirt again, and as he was about to tear another piece from it, the girl shouted:

"Hey, Mr. Hero, wait! I have a whole roll of gauze… See? Here, take it. I've been trying to tell you, but you seemed too focused on playing the hero. No need to reveal your body here."

"Here!"

.

Author's Note:

Part 3—coming soon!